


Later, Maybe

by hollybennett123



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Clothed Sex, Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Fingering, Fluff and Smut, Lingerie, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Praise Kink, Rimming, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-26 08:50:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20927471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollybennett123/pseuds/hollybennett123
Summary: On moving into the cottage, it had taken very little time at all to realise — via a joint effort, and a very enjoyable one at that — that the desk in Aziraphale’s study couldn’t possibly be a more perfect height for Crowley to be bent over and ravished.Serendipitous, Aziraphale had called it on first making the discovery, though the alignment is so flawless Crowley has his suspicions a minor miracle may have been involved.





	Later, Maybe

**Author's Note:**

> I just don't put things in Crowley enough, basically
> 
> Please take heed of the tags and note also that they both use male pronouns throughout, just in case it's a configuration you'd rather not read ♥

On moving into the cottage, it had taken very little time at all to realise — via a joint effort, and a very enjoyable one at that — that the desk in Aziraphale’s study couldn’t possibly be a more perfect height for Crowley to be bent over and ravished. _Serendipitous_, Aziraphale had called it on first making the discovery, though the alignment is so flawless Crowley has his suspicions a minor miracle may have been involved.

Regardless, Aziraphale seems to enjoy taking advantage of this fortunate fact as often as he can, and Crowley in turn feels lucky by association. If Aziraphale likes to preface dinner with a fully-clothed quickie within the cosy surroundings of his bookshelves and knick-knacks, Crowley certainly has no complaints.

Except, of course, when Aziraphale keeps him bent over that very same desk for the better part of half an hour, two fingers on him and in him and playing with his clit, refusing to give him anything more.

“Angel, please,” Crowley groans, leaning further over the desk where he’s braced on his hands on the off-chance it makes his pleading more enticing. “You know I can take another.”

He could take a fourth as well, no doubt, but one step at a time. Aziraphale in this sort of mood isn’t easily swayed.

“I’m well aware,” Aziraphale says, scissoring his fingers apart as if testing just how sloppy-wet and relaxed Crowley is now. How easily he could be stuffed full of Aziraphale’s fingers, his cock or anything else Aziraphale wants to give him. “I ought to be keeping an eye on the time, I suppose, given we have dinner plans,” he adds, entirely unrelated and quite frankly not the conversation Crowley wants to be having right now.

Crowley grits his teeth, not a bit bothered what time it is unless it’s time to move things in a more satisfying direction, but uses what willpower he has left to remain patient. Aziraphale wants him to be good, and he’s going to be good for him.

It has to be tricky, Crowley imagines, extracting a pocket watch from one’s waistcoat with one hand when the fingers of the alternative are otherwise occupied, but Aziraphale manages it with only a minor fumble.

“Quarter-to-six already?” Aziraphale says a moment later, though it can hardly be that much of a surprise. “Goodness me, that’ll never do.”

“S’plenty of time,” Crowley groans, canting his hips in an attempt to take Aziraphale’s fingers deeper. “If you’d just — ”

“If I’d just what?” Aziraphale asks mildly, withdrawing so only the tips of them are inside him, teasing over the soft, slick inner folds of his lips before sinking back inside fully.

Crowley makes a disgruntled-turned-pleasured sound, unable to keep from whining. Aziraphale’s fingers move in a slow circle, stretching and filling him, and he promptly forgets where he was going with his previous request.

Still pressed deep, Aziraphale’s fingers abruptly cease all movement inside him, his hips bumping up against Crowley’s as he leans over him. It takes Crowley a moment to realise Aziraphale’s reaching for the phone at the back corner of the desk.

“You can’t be serious,” Crowley hisses, incredulous, as Aziraphale begins to turn the rotary dial. Aziraphale has been brazen enough to do a lot of things, but never _this_. For him to so casually go about his business, Crowley a mere afterthought or a toy to idly play with while he attends to more important matters, gets Crowley going like nothing else. Aziraphale, the absolute bastard, knows it. “Angel — ”

“Hush now, dear, I’m on the telephone,” Aziraphale says kindly.

Crowley sinks down onto his elbows, burying his face into the crook of his arm with a muffled-sounding whimper.

A tremendously helpful Ritz employee answers on the third ring with a polite greeting and a query as to how they might be of assistance this evening.

“Ah, hello,” Aziraphale says, still not moving his fingers. “I — that is _we_ — have a reservation this evening under the name Fell; seven o’clock, I believe.” He balances the phone carefully between chin and shoulder, freeing his spare hand to push his rolled-up sleeve back up over his elbow where it’s sliding down. The jostling motion of his arm makes Crowley sound as if he’s developing breathing difficulties, but given breathing is something of an optional activity for the both of them, it’s hardly surprising when Aziraphale pays him no mind. “I’m terribly sorry, but my husband and I seem to be running a tad late. Would you mind holding the table for us until we arrive? Twenty-past should do it.” He curls his fingers minutely and _rubs_, making Crowley groan into his sleeve. “Actually,” he adds, and Crowley’s legs give a tremulous wobble at the barely-discernible thread of wicked delight in his voice. “Make it half-past. The traffic can be _such_ a bother this time of night.”

It’s bordering on torturous having to wait through Aziraphale’s polite thank-yous and, of all the bloody things, a _toodle pip_ to finish. Crowley finds himself exhaling a shaky sigh of relief when Aziraphale finally puts the phone back on the hook.

“You’re incorrigible, angel,” Crowley mutters, feeling hot from head to toe and so aroused he can’t think straight. “You’re their worst customer. You’re always late and they hate you.”

“Now, now,” Aziraphale says mildly. “They love me at the Ritz. And I intend on tipping them very handsomely for their trouble.”

He eases his fingers back out to the middle knuckle then screws them back inside Crowley’s hungry cunt at a leisurely pace, turning his thumb to gently massage the hood back and forth over Crowley’s clit until he’s gasping.

Aziraphale’s other hand slides up the back of Crowley’s shirt, smoothing over his spine and coming to rest there. Crowley all but melts between the desk and the warm press of Aziraphale’s palm, spreading his legs as wide as he can within the confines of his thigh-tangled jeans and long past the point of caring how desperate he looks.

“You did ever so well, keeping quiet for me,” Aziraphale says, the words imbued with the kind of pride that makes Crowley squirm and flush further, another flare of heat warming him through.

Slipping his fingers free with an obscene slurping sound, Aziraphale presses up against Crowley with a satisfied little hum, grinding against his bare arse with an achingly slow, singular roll of his hips. Lingers there like he wants to pull away, yet finds Crowley to be a temptation he can’t quite overcome.

Crowley can feel how hard he is, the thick heft of his cock hot and heavy even through the fabric of his trousers, and it feels so outrageously good Crowley’s forced to bite down on his lip just to keep reasonably quiet about it. He cants his head to look over his shoulder, wanting to get an eyeful of just how mouth-wateringly good Aziraphale looks right now: serene at first glance, yet so hard his cock’s smearing wet at his fly where it strains against it.

“Fuck me, then,” Crowley says, near-panting with how badly he wants it. “You know you want to.”

Just saying it, imagining how good it’ll feel, makes his cunt pulse, clenching around nothing. Aziraphale makes the tiniest whimper of a sound and cuts it off sharply, as if he hadn’t meant to do so at all.

“Oh no, darling. I’m saving that for later,” Aziraphale says, bending to place a kiss to his temple and withdrawing all contact. Despite his attempts at nonchalance, there’s a strained edge to his voice Crowley can’t help but appreciate. “Thank you, though. Besides, you might catch a peek of what I’m wearing beneath my clothes and I wanted them to be a surprise for afterwards. Pretty things, lots of lace; I think you’ll rather like them. I’ll keep them on for you later while I’m fucking you, if you like.”

“Nice,” Crowley says, sounding a bit choked about it. “Sounds good. Was I s’posed to wear something special too?”

“You should wear whatever you like,” Aziraphale assures him. “I’d say your current choice of underwear is an inspired choice. I’ll be imagining you in it throughout dinner, no doubt.”

“I’m not wearing any underwear.”

“Quite,” Aziraphale agrees, hungry-sounding, and sinks to his knees behind him.

“Ngk,” Crowley says, for lack of anything more eloquent.

Aziraphale’s so close Crowley can feel his breath against his cunt, hot and damp and tantalisingly good.

“You’re making quite the mess,” Aziraphale says dazedly, drawing his knuckles through the slick that’s smeared stickily over his inner thighs. “Positively dripping for me, my dear.”

“For you, yep, s’all yours,” Crowley agrees readily.

Aziraphale’s mouth is a furnace, divine in every sense. He has a good go at Crowley’s cunt to start, mouthing over the seam of his lips before delving inside. Licks inside him with a murmur of satisfaction and sets about eating him out so thoroughly and enthusiastically that Crowley’s only attempt at encouragement comes out in the form of a sob.

Once satisfied with that endeavour Aziraphale ventures higher to tongue at Crowley’s hole, hooking his thumb into Crowley’s cunt and cupping his hand to rub circles over his clit with his fingertips. Crowley’s legs nearly give out entirely at the barrage of sensation.

“Please,” Crowley begs. Often, this would be plenty to satisfy, but today he’s just aching to be filled. It’s not _enough_. “Need more than your fingers, fuck. Give me your cock, angel. You can have me again later, as well; I’ll fuck you later, if you want it. My hand, any of your toys, however long you want it. Just — please. Need you to, angel, fuck.”

He hears Aziraphale let out a shuddering breath. Glances back, sees him wide-eyed and palming himself roughly, his gaze narrow-focused on Crowley like nothing else exists in the world but the two of them.

“I — ” Aziraphale says softly, and there’s silence for a good few seconds. “Yes. As you say, _later_ — well, it certainly does no harm to enjoy a little something now,” he adds in an ever-accelerating rush, and he sounds as lust-stupid and lost in it as Crowley feels.

The ensuing sound of Aziraphale’s trouser zip being hurriedly drawn down is one of the most beautiful things Crowley’s ever heard. His stomach clenches in anticipation, near-dizzy with it.

Crowley moans as the flared head of Aziraphale’s cock slips between his labia and parts them, nudging inside only a fraction and somehow making him feel emptier than ever.

“Yes. _Yes_,” Crowley murmurs encouragingly, just in case there were any doubt at all as to how badly he wants it.

“_Fuck_,” Aziraphale groans, a low rumble of a sound.

He grips keenly at Crowley’s waist and slides inside him, inch by perfect inch until their hips sit flush and Crowley’s so full he feels like he could discorporate from the sheer pulsing pleasure of it. It’s glorious, fantastic beyond measure, and Crowley feels a rush of wetness as his over-eager, over-stimulated body responds. He thinks that if Aziraphale weren’t plugging him up with his cock there’d surely be a spattered mess on the floor now between his spread legs where he’s dripping, sticky and soaked from all the teasing and finally, finally about to get the fucking he’s been craving.

Aziraphale lays one hand over Crowley’s on the desk, tangling their fingers together sweetly. He gives a faltering little shove of his hips, murmuring Crowley’s name like a prayer, then begins to see to him properly in drawn-out thrusts that drag unerringly over his sweet spot. In this position, Crowley can do little more than take it, and decides that if he can’t make himself useful then he can at least be good; lets Aziraphale angle him however he pleases and use him like that.

“So good,” Crowley gasps as Aziraphale pounds into him, “you always feel so fucking _good_.”

“Darling,” Aziraphale says breathlessly, rutting into him at a fair pace and a far cry from the relaxed front he was putting on mere minutes ago. “Oh, you needed this, didn’t you?” Crowley merely whines in response, squeezing Aziraphale’s hand with his own, and Aziraphale shoves into him even harder. “I can feel it, my dear. How _wet_ you are for me. You’re taking it so well.”

“Oh, hellfire, right there,” Crowley says. “I’m so close, fuck — ”

He gets a hand beneath himself, dragging his fingers clumsily over his clit.

“That’s it,” Aziraphale says, trailing gentle kisses over his neck in counterpoint to the harsh slap of skin on skin where their hips meet. “There you go.”

Moments later Crowley’s tipped over the edge, his whole body wracked with wave after wave of pleasure as he shudders through it, clutching the desk for support. Aziraphale fucks him throughout, wrecked-sounding and barely holding back.

“I’d very much like to spend inside you,” Aziraphale says tightly as Crowley slumps over the desk, still feeling the aftershocks and whimpering with overstimulation that hovers somewhere between glorious pleasure and too much to bear. “If that’s quite alright with you.”

“Very alright,” Crowley says, as keen on the idea as Aziraphale is.

When Aziraphale does come, he shoves up against Crowley’s bare thighs so firmly that Crowley can feel the lace-trimmed hint of stockings through Aziraphale’s trousers the entire time he’s spilling inside him. Crowley remembers all at once that Aziraphale has some new things to show off later and smiles to himself, orgasm drunk and letting his mind wander.

Crowley gives himself a moment after Aziraphale pulls out and finally stands himself upright, unsteady on his legs having been in the same position for so long and still feeling the after-effects of coming so hard. He cleans himself off with a wave of his hand, albeit somewhat reluctantly; he quite likes it when Aziraphale makes a mess of him and can’t help but revel in the filthy trickle of come that slides down his thigh before he vanishes it completely and re-fastens his jeans.

After, he moves to straighten Aziraphale’s clothing for him too where he’s looking gorgeously rumpled.

“Thank you, my dear,” Aziraphale says as Crowley smooths the lapels of his waistcoat. He gives Crowley a pointed look, though there’s a fond smile tucked beneath it. “Honestly, I can’t believe I gave into your tempting me like that,” he adds, suddenly adorably pink-cheeked about it. “Got a bit carried away despite my best intentions. I’m sure you’re terribly pleased with yourself.”

“You’re easily temptable, angel,” Crowley grins. Then, softer and entirely honest as he holds Aziraphale’s gaze: “I didn’t plan on it. Couldn’t help myself.”

Aziraphale blinks at him, enchanted and awestruck for a moment, then slips his arms around Crowley’s waist and draws him into the wonderfully languid sort of kiss Crowley could quite happily enjoy for the next hour or so if only they could spare it.

“We should go,” Aziraphale says far too soon. “Before we’re even later than we said we would be. Awfully nice of them to hold the table for us, after all.”

“You aren’t going to make me sit through some six-course nightmare, are you?” Crowley says, tipping his head back with a long-suffering groan. If anything, one orgasm in and he’s all the more desperate to pick up where they left off already. “If we’ve been in there three hours and you haven’t ordered dessert yet, I’ll leave you there while I see to myself in the toilets. That’s not an empty threat.”

It’s obviously the emptiest of threats, not least because Aziraphale will tell him he’s not allowed to, Crowley knows full well he’s not allowed to regardless, and realistically Crowley struggles to envision a universe in which he could ever willingly disappoint Aziraphale. Besides: spectating while Aziraphale takes pleasure from his food is a treat in its own right, and one Crowley’s been enjoying since he first sat and watched Aziraphale swallow oysters with audible enthusiasm and felt a stirring beneath his toga.

“You absolutely will not, the Ritz is a very classy establishment,” Aziraphale tuts, shrugging into his overcoat while Crowley reacquaints himself with his abandoned sunglasses.

“That’s not what you said that one time we — ”

“It doesn’t count if I’m there too,” Aziraphale interrupts, a statement largely devoid of logic but one said brusquely enough that it gives the illusion of making sense anyway. “If we’re in there together it has a passionate rendezvous sort of a feel, doesn’t it? Amorous couple can’t keep their hands off one another? It’s romantic. If you’re, excuse my phrasing, _fingering yourself_ in the lavatory whilst I’m sampling a cheeseboard in the next room it doesn’t have quite the same thrill to it.”

Crowley shrugs, very much amused. “If you say so. And I’ve seen you eating a cheeseboard; lots of passion there. A lot of moaning involved.”

“_Anyway_,” Aziraphale says, moving swiftly on with a smile. “Of course I don’t intend to keep you waiting through all those courses, my dear.” He stands on his tiptoes to kiss Crowley on the cheek before taking Crowley’s hand and making a beeline for the door. There’s a gleam in his eye, an uptick to the corner of his mouth so smug that Crowley knows what he’s about to say next and is already rolling his eyes behind the safety of his sunglasses. “I just enjoyed the most _scrumptious_ starter right here at home, I’ll have you know.”


End file.
